


Pour Some Sugar on Me

by Tierra469



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester in Purgatory, Dean POV, Felt up by grace, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm, Wee bit fluff, little more angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierra469/pseuds/Tierra469
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn’t know Cas plans to stay in Purgatory—but he accepts Castiel’s parting gift nonetheless</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pour Some Sugar on Me

Day and night in Purgatory seemed to follow no set pattern. Dean had no watch with which to check his suspicions about this—and of course his phone was as useless as tits on a bull—but he could definitely tell without a timepiece that sometimes the night was much longer than the day, and sometimes shorter. It added to the sense of disorientation and chaos that seemed to permeate this place.

As the oddly diffuse light began to fade again, Dean hunkered down next to Benny and wiped the blood off his makeshift blade. Two rougarous, this time, had come disconcertingly close to gutting him before Cas and Benny had stepped in and hacked them to bits. Dean had lopped off the second one’s head, trying to finish it—even though he knew damn well they could only be killed by fire. Not having any incendiary devices, the three of them didn’t stick around long enough to find out if the creatures were well and truly dead.

Benny was studying a patch of disturbed soil as Dean made to stand up again, but found his legs refusing to cooperate. The vampire glanced over at him as he plopped ungracefully down on his ass in the leaf litter.

“You need some rest, my friend,” Benny growled.

Dean sighed. “Just gimme couple minutes, I’ll be fine.”

Benny threw him a look before standing up to lean against a tree. Dean hung his head, draped his arms over his knees and just breathed deeply until Cas’ shoes shuffled up beside him. Well… what passed for his shoes here. Dean couldn’t believe the flimsy hospital-issue slippers were still on his feet—some kinda angel magic, he guessed.

“You haven’t slept in two days,” Castiel observed quietly.

“Days ain’t what they used to be,” Dean countered. “I’m ok.”

“You’re exhausted, Dean. You’re human.” Castiel folded himself up to sit down beside Dean, a fallen log at his back, and Dean found himself gazing into his friend’s azure eyes, which were at the moment radiating compassion. Something inside Dean twinged. “Benny and I will keep watch for a time. You sleep.”

Dean did know what “a time” meant here. It meant the interval between when you yanked your blade out of the last bloodthirsty shape-shifter you just ganked, and when you had to start running for your life again as Leviathan splattered to the ground and morphed all around you, preparing to eat your face.

It would be exhilarating if it wasn’t so endless.

Cas laid a hand on Dean’s forearm. “Lie down,” he commanded gently.

Dean glanced back at Benny, who was glowering vigilantly off in the other direction, then took a last hard look around the gloomy forest before him. Nothing seemed to stir.

“Ok, Cas,” he murmured. “You win.” He gave his friend a weak smile of gratitude, and lay back on the hard ground, an arm folded beneath his head.

He tried to sleep, he really did—but the earth beneath him felt cold, stony and unforgiving, and then there was the gnawing feeling in his belly… not to mention the residual, heart-pounding terror of the past days. Had it been a week? He was already losing track. And a week here—was that a lifetime on earth? Or was it five minutes? Dean shifted, grunting, trying to relieve his aching back.

“Dean…” he felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see that his friend had moved over a bit and spread his trench coat out on the ground between them. “You’re uncomfortable. Lie on this.”

“Well, then, _you’ll_ be uncomfortable,” Dean argued. “It’s gettin’ cold.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t really need it.”

Despite his protests, Dean slid over onto the coat, rolling onto his side to face Cas and pillowing his head on his bicep. “Yeah?” he said drowsily, looking up at his friend, “So if you don’t need it, why’d you put it back on? Why’re you wearing it here at all?”

Cas’ mouth quirked up briefly at the corner, then he turned away from Dean and sighed. Squinting out at the forest, the set of his jaw and the seriousness of his gaze reminded Dean of the sunny November day at the playground—what seemed like a lifetime ago—when Dean first began to think of Castiel as something like a friend. _Can I tell you something, if you promise not to tell another soul?_ the angel had said. _I’m not a hammer, as you say. I have questions. I have doubts…_

“I’m wearing it,” Cas murmured in his deep, gravelly purr, “because you kept it when you thought I was dead. It meant something to you. And that means something to me—that you thought of me well while I was… gone. Despite everything I’ve done. You didn’t want to forget me.”

There was that twinge again. Dean reached out impulsively and squeezed Castiel’s knee. “You know I could never forget you.” Then, because this was turning into a goddamn soap opera moment, he huffed a little. “Could strangle you sometimes, but I could never forget you.”

Seeing Cas’ gaze on him, he stopped joking. Maybe it was a trick of the failing light, but he thought he saw tears welling in his friend’s eyes.

Cas lifted his chin to blink up at the darkening sky. “And I suppose I’m wearing it because it reminds me of how things used to be. Of better days spent with you and Sam.”

“Good old days of the apocalypse, huh?” Dean said in all seriousness, tearing up himself at the mention of his brother. His brother, who must be ripping through every library in the western hemisphere and blowing up the hunter network trying to find him. Again.

Cas definitely looked melancholy.

“Listen,” Dean urged, squeezing the angel’s knee even harder, “you got me outta Hell, and I’m gettin’ you outta Purgatory. I told you that. We’re gonna blow this shithole together, and we’ll be sharing a beer with Sam before you know it.”

Castiel nodded. “Ok, Dean,” he said flatly, without looking at him. “Now rest.”

Dean tried to wad up the trench coat beneath his head to form a better pillow. But no matter how he bunched the material, there was always a button jabbing his cheek, or some kind of unbearable lump… until Cas finally grabbed Dean by the back of his shirt and gave him a yank.

He found his head in Cas’ lap.

“Uh…” Dean grunted, “’kay.” He settled in, nestled up against Cas’ warmth, glad for the darkness for once—so perhaps Benny wouldn’t see him clinging to the angel like a sleepy three-year old. But he was kind of beyond caring at this point. It was comfortable to sling an arm and a thigh over Castiel’s outstretched leg, using it as a sort of body pillow, and nuzzling his face into the soft material of Cas’ pants. Trying to ignore the fact that the arm beneath him was falling asleep, he closed his eyes as Castiel laid a warm hand carefully on his shoulder.

He dozed fitfully for a short while, startling awake at every crackling twig, distant howl or rustle of his companions.

“You smell different,” he blurted, jolting awake again. Castiel didn’t respond, just squeezed his shoulder a little, perhaps thinking Dean was dreaming. But it was true… Dean inhaled deeply, his nose against Cas’ thigh (and, he realized, just a few inches from his crotch). Normally, the angel smelled wonderful; Dean had never thought much about it before, but now racked his tired brain, trying to think of how he would have described it. Like a clean t-shirt, dried on the clothesline on a crisp, fall day. Like the breeze off Lake Michigan. Like rain on a hot summer sidewalk. Now, his friend was starting to reek of rank leaf mould… of sulfurous mud… of grime and blood and sweat and funk.

It wasn’t right. This place had sullied Castiel. He was even growing a beard, dammit.

Dean grunted and scowled, opening his mouth to comment on the situation, but Cas sighed irritably and placed his palm firmly on the side of Dean’s head.

“Lie still, Dean. I’m going to have to help you, I see.”

What followed for Dean was a sudden flood of warmth, starting from the top of his head and bleeding slowly downward. Soothing and relaxing, the warm energy emanated from Cas’ hand and poured over and _through_ him slowly, like maple syrup on waffles, seeping thoroughly into every crack and crevice of his mind and short-circuiting the static there. The warmth flowed down his neck, soothing tense muscles, then over his shoulders, down his arms and into his hands like a gentle massage.

“Guh…” he mumbled, his eyes closing and brain turning to mush. “Awesome. But you shouldn’t use your…”

“Hush.”

Dean fell silent as the warmth blossomed in his chest, circling and caressing his heart, rubbing up against it like a cat before seeping in to infuse it, then suddenly radiating outward. Back in, then out. He could feel the energy pulsing with his heartbeat, growing bigger and stronger. The energy wasn’t just warmth, he realized, it was _love_. He was feeling very dreamy now, safe, peaceful. The warm, happy love syrup soothed the hunger in his belly and turned it into a radiant ball of light, and he felt that he might just be glowing. Like a damn firefly, he thought with a sleepy smile.

The energy kept on flowing, pooling now in his lower belly, twirling lazily around his tailbone, and _oh… OH…_ that comforting warm shower of a minute ago was now beginning to turn steamy.  The heat spread throughout his groin, tingling, tantalizing and massaging far deeper than any motel magic fingers could ever hope to reach. Dean squirmed a little, his burgeoning erection beginning to tent the front of his jeans.

“Dude… uh…” he muttered against Cas’ leg, but the sweet, hot ache in his loins was unrelenting... overwhelming. The feeling built—warmth pulsating through his genitals, his rectum, his prostate gland, with every beat of his heart. Cas was like a giant angel vibrator… did he know what he was doing? Every moment that slipped by, Dean cared less. His cock swelled until it was hard enough to cut diamonds; he couldn’t believe his friends couldn’t hear it throbbing like a bongo drum. Or maybe they could—who gave a shit? He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers digging into Cas’ thigh, mouth opening to gulp in air, to pant. A soft moan spilled out. His ass throbbed in time with his dick. He yearned, burned, lusted like he’d never lusted before, hips beginning to thrust and stutter…

Dean imploded, body curling tight around Castiel’s leg, then exploded… muffling his shout in Cas’ lap, Dean came, twitching and quivering and whimpering as he unloaded what felt like a fifth of cum into his dirty shorts.

***

Next thing Dean knew, he was being rudely awakened from a dead sleep—yanked to his feet by Benny, who added insult to injury by grabbing his face between two filthy hands and hissing “Wake the hell up!”

_Ugh. Blood breath,_ Dean thought, cringing a little. “I’m awake, man, what—holy shit!”

There was a giant SPLAT as four Leviathan plunged to the ground simultaneously in front of Castiel, who leapt backwards in alarm and grabbed Dean by the shoulder _(when did Cas get out from under him?_ ). The angel turned, and reaching out his other hand, shouted to Benny, “Come here!”

Dean looked at Cas in horror. “No Cas, you don’t have enough juice left, especially after…”

Ignoring him, Castiel grabbed ahold of Benny’s arm and Dean’s shoulder, and there was that sensation again—Jimmy Novak had said something about being chained to a comet, and that about described it. Cas managed to airlift him and Benny into the middle of some desolate bog, and it appeared for a moment that the three of them were safe, but then Castiel flickered like a mirage before them… once, twice, before disappearing entirely.

“What!?” Dean cried. “Wait! Cas! Where’d you go?!” he spun in circles a few times like an idiot, before Benny caught him by the arm.

“Quiet, man, you’ll draw somethin’ in,” the vampire whispered. “Give ‘im a minute.”

They both stood stock still, Dean holding his breath and staring wide-eyed at the place that Castiel had just appeared. Then disappeared. Just like that. Had he gone on purpose? Or had he not entirely arrived? Had the Leviathan snagged him after all?

Dean suddenly thought about last night, about the surprising sweet warmth that Castiel had filled him with. All he could feel now was fear for his friend… licking like a grass fire through his heart, his gut, his mind. He blinked hard a few times, shook his head, as if that could make the angel materialize again. He began to shiver.

“Goddammit, Cas… come on…”

Then, in a flash, Cas appeared again. He staggered, falling to the wet ground, and Dean could see that he’d been injured, his right leg bloody and his pants tattered.

“Cas!” Dean dropped to the forest floor beside the angel and grabbed his leg, shoving the pants up out of the way to see the huge bite mark there.

“It’s ok,” Cas panted. “It’s just a flesh wound. I can heal it, I think.”

“You _think?_ What the hell happened?”

Grimacing, Castiel clamped his hands around the injury, pressing tight. “I was slow, and one grabbed me. I almost brought it with us; I had to turn and go back to get rid of it.”

Dean glanced up to see that Benny was occupied in watching for more danger, before turning a sharp look on Cas. “You were slow because you used up your energy on _me_ last night, didn’t you?” Dean whispered angrily. “You know you’ve been getting weaker, but for some reason, you chose to pour some sugar on me last night instead of saving your strength for something important, like fleeing for our lives.”

Cas frowned. “ _You’re_ important. And I got you here safely, Dean.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t get YOU here safely, Cas.”

The angel’s frown deepened, and he tilted his head in that familiar way, studying his friend. “Did you not _like_ what I did last night? You seemed to like it at the time.”

Dean sighed, his eyes darting around the swamp while he gathered his thoughts. Hell yeah, he’d liked it. He’d liked it way too much for comfort.

“Sure I liked it,” he replied, deciding to just be honest. There didn’t seem to be time, space or energy for lies in this place. “I liked it a lot. I mean, it was probably one of the nicest things anybody’s ever…” he stopped for a moment, surprised at his admission, and blinked back a tear. This wasn’t going anywhere good…

“But I gotta say, this wasn’t the time or place. I mean, maybe you didn’t mean to, and God knows I needed to relax, but… friends don’t make friends come in their pants in the woods, dude,” he finished, his gaze falling on the angel again.

Cas looked a little ashamed at that. “I didn’t entirely expect that, you know,” he said quietly, his blue eyes soft. “And I did clean you up.”

Dean was unable to help glancing down at his crotch. “Huh. I guess you did.”

When he looked back up, Cas’ expression had grown distant. “I suppose,” Castiel murmured, “that I just wanted to offer you what little comfort I could while we’re together. You don’t belong here, and I know it’s been very hard for you. You’re here because of me. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that.”

Dean scowled. “You don’t belong here either, man. And you’ve saved my ass a dozen times since we got here, so stop apologizing. I told you, we’re getting outta here asap.”

“Yes, you’ve told me,” Cas sighed. “And I keep telling _you_ that your portal won’t work for me.”

Dean felt a bigger flash of anger each time Castiel said that to him. “We’ll _make_ it work, goddammit,” he growled. “Because if I can’t drag you through, then I’m staying here with you—don’t you get that? Forever, or until we find another way out. I’m _not_ leaving you!”

Cas stared at him, a stunned expression flitting across his face momentarily. The angel composed himself again in a flash, however, and a mask of calm confidence suddenly slipped into place. Dean grew wary. Cas smiled softly.

“You’re always right, Dean,” he rumbled pleasantly. “I should remember that. It might very well work. And even if it doesn’t, then I can find another way out.” Cas looked up at the mountain where the portal was said to be, and Dean followed his gaze. “I brought us another day’s walk closer,” he said, “See?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, squinting up at the dark slope rising before them from the forested plain. “I believe you’re right.” He turned back to Castiel and smiled, despite his misgivings. “Now how’s that leg?” he asked. “We’re gonna have some climbing to do.”

Pulling back a couple of the angel’s fingers, Dean could see the wound beginning to heal slowly. Slowly was better than not at all.

“It’s going to be fine, soon,” Cas replied.

Dean laid both his hands atop Castiel’s and squeezed gently, leaning toward his friend. “Good,” he said. That flood of gentle warmth came back, but this time Dean knew it was all his own. “You know I’m here for you, buddy,” he told the angel.

Cas leaned forward too, slowly, until their foreheads met over his injured knee. Man and angel both closed their eyes and sighed, breathing each other’s breaths. “I’m here for you, too, Dean,” Cas breathed. “For as long my fate will allow.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first post in this fandom, having now fallen in love with Supernatural whilst in the bottom of my Walking Dead showhole. I know I'm late to this party, and there are already several stories posted with this title... but what the hell. Mine's different! Hope you liked, and if so, please give some love. Make me wanna post another one. I live for comments. Thanks! Can't wait for season 11 on Netflix!


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